


Angel Wings

by Veul_McLannon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Up, Mention of heavy drinking, Wings, one swear word, the comfort bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veul_McLannon/pseuds/Veul_McLannon
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley had had a falling out. Just some silly little thing, really. (Yankee Candle does some very interesting scents, that's for certain.)





	Angel Wings

**Author's Note:**

> A/N post-publishing: I wish I had held off on this and added to it, it was an idea with potential but I think I mucked it up by rushing it... I'm too impatient for my own good I think. Nonetheless, hope you enjoy xx

Aziraphale and Crowley had had a falling out. Just some silly little thing, really. Maybe Crowley had touched a first edition with tea-stained hands; maybe Aziraphale had put his feet up on the Bentley’s dash one time too many.

The upshot of it was, however, that Crowley had been sequestered in his flat for the last five days, and refused all attempts by Aziraphale at communication.

It had been quite some time since they had spent more than five days apart for something not work-related, and the angel wasn’t ashamed to admit that he- that he missed him.

And so it was that he was standing outside Crowley’s Mayfair flat, wondering at the faint scent of smoke on the air, coupled with something else, more familiar.

When Aziraphale let himself into Crowley’s flat, he was greeted by a conflagration.

Or... not a conflagration.

Just an awful lot of candles. Some might say an excessive number. And a wall of scent strong enough to bowl over the most nasally-challenged. 

He reeled and staggered forward into the heat. His eyes felt as though they hadn’t been blinked in months. He could barely see straight (yes, yes, insert the obligatory joke here, he’d heard them all and made most of them) through the haze, and tried in vain to locate the demon he knew was lurking somewhere probably inaccessible.

He was alerted to Crowley’s presence by a hiccough. 

“They- they really nailed it, angel. ‘sjust like it ssssays on the packet, look-” Crowley, sat on the floor next to his sofa (just like any self-respecting, status quo-breaking demon ought) brandished a crumpled and empty packet in Aziraphale's general direction. 

The angel took it gingerly, more than a little concerned. It wasn’t like Crowley to get this drunk alone on a Wednesday afternoon; normally they waited for each other if they needed a drink.

The packet had formerly contained tea lights. It read ‘Angel Wings’.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at exactly the same time as Crowley swore emphatically, head snapping back round to the angel in horror as he staggered to something approaching the vertical.

“Azzssss- Azzzira- _fuck_. Angel, I- I didn’t- well, I thought it was a funny thing, see, cos I’m a- a demon, right and thessssse are- are- well, _heavenly_ candlesss... ssseemed... ironic...”

His attempts to save the situation tailed off in the face of Aziraphale’s raised eyebrow, overlaid with some little pity and considerable fondness, though in his current state he couldn’t tell. He slumped dejectedly against the sofa arm, in a manner that a normally-boned human probably would have found impossible to contrive.

“You silly old snake, you,” Aziraphale said, in tones perhaps a little huskier than his usual syrup-filled ones, due to the overwhelming heat radiating from the thousand-odd tealights. “You know you only need to ask.”

There was a sudden rush of air as a pair of huge white wings unfurled elegantly from their containment, extinguishing every candle in the room. Crowley’s face dropped as he continued his silent conversation with the ground.

The angel pouted a little and moved to stand in front of him, stepping delicately over the myriad little wax pots scattered on the floor, clasping him softly round the arms and levering him upright, so they were face to face. He flexed a wing to try and draw Crowley’s attention from their feet, and the extinguished candles.

Crowley’s eyes snapped to it, snake eyes dilating instantly like a kitten’s might when confronted with a laser beam. A tentative hand reached out to adjust an imperfect primary.

Aziraphale smiled and lowered them both down to a suddenly-clear square five metres of floor space, wrapping a wing around them like a feathery cocoon.

Crowley hummed contentedly, pulling the wing down further so he could bury his face in it like a feathered pillow, and promptly curling up on it.

Soon the only sound in the flat was the quiet hiss of the Serpent’s breathing, so human as he slept in heavenly peace.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Though this was written in all of half an hour (to get it to 666 words lol) I would love to hear what you thought if you liked it! Thank you for reading xx  
> Oh also side note I headcanon their wings as like a solid 15 metres across, not those puny little things in the TV show ;) so they really would extinguish a roomful of candles~


End file.
